


Ghosting

by rattmann



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Feels, Dysfunctional Family, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rattmann/pseuds/rattmann
Summary: Phil reflects on killing his son, and has a much needed discussion with Ghostbur about the events that took place.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 67





	Ghosting

**Author's Note:**

> MINECRAFT BLOCK MEN POG ??? I haven’t written anything since March and this is my first Dream SMP fic so this definitely isn’t my best work, I hope you guys like it though :)

It had been stressful, joining the Dream SMP on the day of the war to take back L’Manburg. Only for his son... his stupid, stupid son, to blow it all up with the press of a button.

And it had been downright agonizing forcing himself to kill said son. He had wanted to make it quick, painless. So when the tip of the sword Wilbur had pushed into his hands only sliced through his shirt and a thin layer of skin with his first swipe, Phil knew things weren’t going to go his way.

He could’ve sworn he saw something akin to fear flash in his boy's eyes, before that unhinged look took place once more.

He had pulled his son into a hug as the sword went through his body, wings wrapping around him instinctively. It had felt so wrong, shoving the sword into Wilbur’s chest. The weapon slicing through layers of clothes, flesh, and bone without too much strain. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the diamond sword soaked with blood sticking out of Wilbur’s back.

Phil had felt sick when his son's body sagged forward, not strong enough to hold himself up anymore. He felt even more sick when he had looked at Wilbur’s face. Maniacal smile drifting off into a small content one, his usually bright brown eyes suddenly so cold and… lifeless.

He had killed his son.

He remembers the day like it was yesterday. How he had stared into Tommy’s eyes before taking his older brother's life right in front of him. How more than anything he wanted to wrap his wings around Wilbur’s frail body and just sob, but his grieving had been cut short by his other son spawning Withers onto L’Manburg’s ruins. The midst of battle had kept him occupied, and catching up with Techno kept the numbness at bay until the next morning.

Phil had felt cold then, waking up on foreign lands with the events of yesterday finally hitting him in full force. Guilt succumbing his consciousness.

Techno hadn’t questioned him when he threw up all over the ground outside of his secret base, images of his dead son's corpse plaguing his memory.

The way Wilbur had crumpled to the floor after Phil had taken the sword out of his body, blood seeping through his clothes onto the ground beneath them. The faraway look in his eye, along with a relaxed smile on his face as he took his final breath with a final wheeze, lungs failing to work.

They hadn’t even buried him. The members of L’Manburg had just left his body “to rot” as Tubbo had put it. It had made Phil feel even more guilt, knowing he could’ve buried his son. Knowing he had just left him there. The room was long since blocked off now, cobblestone and gravel shoved haphazardly against the hole in what seemed to be a strange hope to erase the history it held behind it.

But that was weeks ago now.

Now New L’Manburg was built into something beautiful, and he had a home now, and Tubbo was doing fairly well as the President, and his dead son was currently sitting in front of a Technoblade wanted poster, strumming idly on his guitar.

Right, his dead son.

Phil hadn’t known what to think when he first saw the transparent man that called himself Ghostbur, shocked beyond belief as his son smiled brightly at him before rushing over to help Quackity who was struggling to build his home.

His dead son. Now standing in front of him. Iconic yellow sweater that he used to wear frequently as a teenager, translucent gray skin, big black eyes, his _son._

After that day he had made it his purpose to find a way to bring him back. He needed his son back. His sweet baby boy, and it hurt more than helped seeing the ghostly figure around the nation. Not even able to remember anything but happy memories.

Wilbur thought his dad stabbing him to death was a _happy memory._

Phil didn’t know how long he watched his son fiddle with his guitar, emotions building up inside of him on the verge of spilling over. He was so cold, and still so incredibly guilty. It didn’t matter how much Ghostbur had tried to reassure him, he knew he fucked up.

He was walking out of his house before he realized what he was doing, straight towards his son. He didn’t even know what he was going to say.

Ghostbur had looked up from his instrument once he heard Phil’s footsteps, a wide grin on his face once he recognized who it was. He felt his heart clench as his son seemed to wiggle happily at the sight of him, waving enthusiastically.

“Phil! Hi, Philza! How are you?” He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get used to his son's shrill voice, raspy with a hint of an echo. It felt wrong, nothing felt right anymore.

Taking a seat on the staircase next to the wanted poster, Phil pointedly ignores Ghostbur’s question as he speaks, “Hey, Wil. Whatcha doin’ out here? It’s getting late.”

His son's smile doesn’t falter, and instead it somehow brightens. Wilbur shifts to face him, guitar momentarily forgotten in his lap before he grips the neck of the instrument as he speaks, “Just practicing! President Tubbo says he likes it when I play music, so I wanted to get better at it to make him happy. Besides, I wanted to play a song for Tommy back in Logstedshire, I think he’ll enjoy it!”

Oh, right. Tommy. Another son that he’s failed miserably.

“That’s very sweet of you, Wil.” Phil murmurs, smiling softly at the boy sitting cross legged in front of him. Wilbur’s smiling so wide now that his eyes are crinkled, smile lines apparent on his features. It makes Phil’s heart hurt, the last time he saw his son smile so wide was when Tommy had sent a picture of them both after L’Manburg declared independence. But even then the smile didn’t quite reach his boy's eyes.

“Why outside though? It gets pretty dangerous here…” Why is he so worried? Wilbur was dead. A ghost. It’s not like something could come up and hurt him. Maybe it was just his dad instincts speaking, or maybe he was just scared of seeing his son hurt more than he already has been all these years.

“It’s nice out here! The Chinese lanterns look the prettiest when the sun sets, don’t you think?” Wil looks up then, eyes full of black emptiness staring up at the sky. If Phil focused hard enough he could almost pretend to see the wondrous look that would be in those eyes, if Wilbur was alive that look would certainly be there. “Phil?”

“Yeah…” he whispers in response, not bothering to look up at the lanterns. They only reminded him of a past that he couldn’t go back to, another reminder of the son he failed.

“Are you sad? Do you want some blue? I can get you some blue.” Ghostbur’s voice has a slight edge to it, panic leaking out of his words as he digs through his pockets for this magical blue.

“It’s alright, son. I’ll be okay.”

“But-“

“Wil. I said it’s fine.”

Ghostbur bites his lip, before nodding reluctantly as he pulls his hand from his pocket. Phil thinks he sees tears brimming those big black eyes, but in a flash it’s gone. He feels like he has a pit in his stomach.

“Can we have a serious conversation, Wil?”

His son seems to tense at that, eyes widening as he grips the guitar tightly. “I don’t like serious conversations…”

“I know… we can make it quick, yeah? And then I’ll let you go back to practicing.” Ghostbur frowns, seemingly not too keen on the idea of having an important chat. But then he’s nodding, curling in on himself as he waits for Phil to speak.

It’s funny almost, how it reminds him of when Wilbur was younger, getting scolded over being a little too mean to Tommy or getting home later than he was supposed to. Those things seem so trivial now, compared to their lives now.

“Why do you see me killing you as a happy memory, Wil?”

Ghostbur blinks, as if he was processing the question. He then tilts his head, a confused look on his face. “Well… because it is a happy memory, what do you mean?”

“Dammit, _no,_ Wil! That shouldn’t be a happy memory! You shouldn’t remember something so awful, you shouldn’t smile when you see me! I’m your dad, and I _killed_ you. There’s nothing good about that.” Phil pauses for a moment, waiting for his son to speak. Ghostbur only stares at him with a frown, refusing to respond.

“Yell, scream, cry… please. Just say something, anything!” There’s desperation in his tone, he’s practically begging his son to give him a reaction that he won’t be able to receive. Wil should be angry with him, should hate his guts. But he doesn’t. And Phil can’t accept that.

“I don’t want to do any of those things…” Ghostbur says quietly, frown deepening as he looks down at the floor. His knees are drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs as he denies looking into Phil’s eyes.

They’re silent for what feels like hours, but was probably only minutes. Phil felt like he was drowning in guilt as he stared down at his boy. His boy who looked so small, so fragile.

It hurt knowing _he_ did this.

He watches as Wil pulls out his infamous blue, rolling it between his fingers as they sit. Phil feels even worse knowing he made his boy sad.

“Wilbur was a bad man… and he deserved to die. He did evil things and hurt a lot of people, so why wouldn’t it be a happy memory?” Ghostbur’s voice was strained, clearly not happy about the topic.

“You weren’t a bad guy, Wil. You were misguided. I should’ve realized that. Instead of seeing you as a lost cause I should’ve _helped_ you.”

“Well I… _he_ was a lost cause. At least that’s what I’ve been told.” Phil frowns, wondering who the hell told his son that he was a lost cause and why. He wants to ask, but he’s sure Wil wouldn’t tell him. “Can we stop talking about this now?”

“Not yet, son.” He murmurs, and Ghostbur’s frown deepens. He swears he sees gooey black liquid falling from Wilbur’s eye sockets, but then he blinks and it’s gone.

“I think he was a bad person. I’ve heard about the things he’s done. He was a bad man, a bad father. And by extension probably a bad brother and son too.”

“That’s not true.” Phil felt appalled, knowing his son thought of himself that way. “You were a great brother to Techno and Tommy. And you were an amazing son.”

Ghostbur tilts his head, inky black eyes staring at him as if they were looking through his soul. “Yet you always loved Techno more.”

_What?_

“What?”

Ghostbur blinks, eyebrows furrowing as if he was confused. “I… don’t know why I said that.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say, as he stares at his son with horror in his eyes. Ghostbur squirms under his gaze, dipping his head to stare back at the ground rather than his father. The atmosphere is tense, air thick and Phil feels as if he’s about to explode.

“Why would you say that?” Phil asks quietly, not trusting his own voice. Ghostbur doesn’t respond, not that he was expecting him to. “You know that’s not true, Wil. I don’t- I’m not-“

He just doesn’t know what to fucking say.

What Wilbur said wasn’t true, was it? It couldn’t have been. He loves all of his sons equally, but it sure does look like he favored Techno more.

Why is he trying to convince his son of this when he can’t even convince himself?

His son looks up at him, a sad smile on his face. It’s as if he knew the thoughts running through Phil’s head. “It’s okay, dad. I’m not mad, even if you want me to be.”

 _Dad._ He hasn’t heard Wilbur call him that in a very long time.

“Wil…” He wants to reach out, to hug his son and never let go. But he knows his hand would just go through his transparent body, never being able to reach its destination.

“Yeah, Phil?”

 _“I love you.”_ And he means it. Even if Wilbur, or Ghostbur, or anyone else on this terrible land didn’t believe him. He knew he meant it, and that it was true. But Gods, does he wish he could get it through his son's head that he wasn’t just saying those words because he felt like he had to, but rather because they were honest.

Ghostbur smiles at him. A real, genuine smile. He seems to float off of the ground slightly in excitement before settling down, “I love you too, Phil! And I’m sure Wilbur did too!”

Phil still feels like the guilt is eating him alive, but he can’t deny the heavy pressure on his chest had lightened up a little. Despite knowing Ghostbur wouldn’t remember this conversation, Phil felt a little bit at ease knowing his son was such a forgiving man.

And though the fact that his boy had claimed to be a villain, to not be as loved as his relatives were, still was itching his brain uncomfortably. Phil knew he wouldn’t be getting anymore talk from Ghostbur about it today, maybe he’d try and bring it up tomorrow.

Now, though… he just wanted to bond with his son.

“Why don’t you play me a song, Wil?” Ghostbur practically beams up at him, grabbing the guitar off of the floor hastily.

“Okay! I would really like for you to hear this new one I’ve been working on…”

And as Ghostbur started strumming a tune, stumbling over the lyrics before explaining to Phil what they meant, he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. He had missed his boy, and though Ghostbur was less than ideal compared to the real Wilbur. Phil couldn’t deny that the ghost filled up the hole in his heart quite well.

He just hopes that he doesn’t lose this Wilbur too.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed :) this was pretty much a self indulgent family angst fic because if SBI won’t give us family dynamic I will give it to you guys for them
> 
> Please let me know if I need to add any more tags and I’ll do it right away :p


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